The voice didn’t answer and Hannah strained her ears, keeping her eyes tightly closed. Her breath was too loud; she was panting in fear of whatever had slipped over her feet- She felt around for her boots and pulled them on: she needed to get a hold of herself, control her breathing if she was going to hear him. She forced herself to take several long, deep breaths.
‘Steven?’ Hannah whispered, and tiptoed back towards the door. There was no answer. She pressed hard against the wooden frame, until her skin came away marked with the grain pattern. ‘Steven?’
For a time – Hannah lost track – she stood and called into the darkness; after a while some part of her mind took charge and told her she had been hearing things; there was no way Steven Taylor could have been in the hallway outside her cell.
When the less-than-entirely sane part of her mind finally accepted that, Hannah fell apart. She trundled back to her corner, wrapped herself in her cloak and cried until she fell asleep. She didn’t wake when the guard brought her morning gloop, nor did she wake when he arrived the following day to replace that trencher with a fresh one.
Eventually, Hannah’s cell door opened and torchlight flooded in, blinding her. She buried her face in her cloak as a young soldier stepped inside. She squinted up at him: he wore the Malakasian crest emblazoned in gold across a leather vest, and his muscular arm was marked with sergeant’s stripes. His sandy-brown hair was tousled; his skin was pale, and he wore heavy boots and leather gloves, which Hannah found a curious choice given the heat.
He wasn’t carrying the disgusting mush.
‘So?’ she said, her voice hoarse, her lips cracking and bleeding as they moved. She pushed her matted hair from her eyes with bruised fingers, revealing the sores that had opened on her skin.
‘Hannah, oh gods… I’ve been looking for days.’
Confused, she tried to make a joke. ‘Oh, that’s nice. Is there a dance or something?’
‘Hannah, it’s me. Alen.’
Hannah tried to stand, but as she struggled to her feet, her vision tunnelled and she slumped back onto her knees. The soldier, whoever he was, moved to assist her.
‘Sit down,’ he said, ‘you’re weak.’
Hannah barely heard him as nausea gripped her and the tiny cell spun around her; she couldn’t make sense of what the soldier was saying.
‘-lost so much weight; look at you!’
Finally she struggled to a sitting position and swallowed hard, trying to keep her stomach calm. ‘Say what you said before,’ she croaked.
‘It’s me, Alen.’
‘No-’ She toppled over and allowed her head to rest against the stone floor.
The man squatted down beside her and took her hand. ‘Hannah, you grew up in Colorado,’ he said in English. ‘You’re American. I’m Alen; I’ve found you-’
‘How-?’ She was almost convinced. She pulled herself upright again.
‘This?’ Alen looked down at the young man’s body. ‘I broke a hundred and thirty-nine Larion Senate rules, but we’re in a bit of a spot and I needed to do something to free us.’
‘But your body, your old body, where is it?’ Her head was still spinning, but she began to hope.
‘In the cell, burned by now. I assume they think I’m dead.’
‘But where have you been all this time?’
‘I was looking for you, and this morning, I finally tracked you all down – this place is enormous. You’re the only one on this floor – well, the only one still with a mind, I should say-’
He broke off as Hannah groaned in anguish.
‘Hannah, listen, I’m getting you out now, so just hang on in. The day after I took the guard – well, I got posted to the docks; it took me eight days to get back and assigned to the prison wing yesterday.’
‘How many days?’ Hannah asked.
‘Too many, my dear; I had to make a good show of it until I located you all; like this I’m able to move freely about the palace – well, at least until they discover I’m gone. You need proper food, and querlis.’ He looked about the tiny cell. ‘Let’s get you some air first. I’ve found a place where you’ll be safe.’ He stood up and pulled her to her feet, then put one of her arms over his shoulder, his arm around her waist.
Hannah concentrated on walking, trying not to look at the thick oak doors that lined the hallway. She shuddered at the idea that such a prison had been constructed before Nerak destroyed the Larion Senate – what could they have needed with such a facility?
‘Where are we going?’ she whispered.
‘To the servants’ quarters, there’s an empty hall, maybe housing for seasonal workers, but it’s all locked up and ignored; it’s the perfect place for you to recover. I’ll settle you in, then go find Hoyt and Churn.’
‘You’ve been out all this time?’
‘I’ve been doing some research while searching for you all; I’ve learned a great deal.’
‘Is Nerak here?’ She shuddered at the thought.
Alen shook his head. ‘No. People believe he was lost in an explosion in Orindale, or that he went down with his ship, the Prince Marek. I felt the magicians – well, most of them – give up their search for me; I suppose that was the night he disappeared.’
‘Most of them?’
At least one has continued looking for me, probably at Nerak’s insistence.’
How do you know that?’
‘Branag’s dog,’ Alen held the torch out in front of them, illuminating a section of uneven flagstones. ‘Careful here. Nerak must have detected you coming through the portal, but Steven and Mark were already here and I think he knew they had Lessek’s key, so he concentrated on finding them. But he wasn’t going to just leave you to wander about, so he had one of his slaves watching you. When Nerak disappeared, this one hunter must have kept working, tracking you with Branag’s wolfhound. He must have soiled himself when you arrived in Middle Fork and found me.’
A two-for-one special,’ she murmured.
‘Just that. They’ve been trying to find me for a thousand Twinmoons, the bastards,’ Alen said. ‘Whoever this is, he ran that poor dog into the ground – that was a mercy killing on my part.’
‘But you spoke with the magician before killing the dog.’
‘I know.’ Alen frowned. ‘Rutting stupid of me – but as long as he thinks I’m dead down here, I’ll have surprise on my side when I finally locate him.’
‘You haven’t yet?’ Hannah asked.
‘Not yet. I’ve scoured those levels of the palace I can get into without raising suspicion, but Malagon and Bellan’s apartments are on the top three floors, and no one but Malagon’s personal guard can get up there. I’m not – this man – wasn’t cleared for it.’
‘Maybe the magician is up there too.’
‘That’s my guess.’ They reached the end of the corridor; Alen said, ‘No talking now. If we run into anyone out there, start coughing; I’ll convince them the prince wants you alive and that I’m taking you to a palace healer.’
Hannah nodded. ‘That shouldn’t be difficult to fake.’
She fell onto the mattress, little more than a canvas covering over a thick pad of hay, but to Hannah, it was bliss. Her breath was rasping in her chest and she hoped it was just a cold, not anything more worrying, like pneumonia. Dust motes danced in the sunlight that flooded the room and Hannah watched them as they settled back to the floor; before the last one fell she was asleep.
She woke to the sound of the door creaking open and watched as the young man claiming to be Alen entered, followed by Hoyt and Churn. Hoyt staggered over to her; his clothes, like hers, were torn and dirty, and he had open sores on his face and blood drying on his lips. His hands were stained with blood, and most of the nails on his fingers had been torn away. He stank, but Hannah didn’t mind – she probably looked and smelled much the same.
‘Move over,’ Hoyt whispered, obviously barely able to stand by himself.
‘What, no hello?’ She tried to make a joke.
‘Later,’ he said and collapsed onto the bed beside her.